


The Risk of Lowered Standards

by fragrantwoods



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Beards, Community: bsg_kink, F/M, New Caprica, Stubble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 19:36:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1440280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragrantwoods/pseuds/fragrantwoods





	The Risk of Lowered Standards

Title: The Risk of Lowered Standards  
Rating: MA  
Word Count: 527  
For [](http://bsg-kink.livejournal.com/profile)[**bsg_kink**](http://bsg-kink.livejournal.com/) 's weekend prompts of pairinngs and kink (Laura/Bill, beard or stubble)  
Many thanks to the supportive folks at [](http://bsg-checkin.livejournal.com/profile)[**bsg_checkin**](http://bsg-checkin.livejournal.com/) for cheering me on this weekend!

 

The mustache was a good look for him now. It fit with the relaxed standards and the planet-side informality. Buttoned-up, clean-shaven Admiral Adama would have looked out of place with a drink in one hand and a joint in the other. The casual, slightly shaggy Bill, on the other hand, looked right at home.

She had noticed other differences when she moved closer. He’d apparently cut down on his twice-daily shaving habit, too. He was just scruffy enough to remind her of those early terrifying days of constant jumps, and in the absence of Cylon raiders, she found it kind of adorable.

When sundown came, she finally pulled him away from the crowd to a mostly private spot behind her tent. He’d been more than willing, kissing and sucking at her skin above her chemise, gliding a hand up under her skirt. He’d flinched a little when she flicked open his belt and tugged on his zipper, but any potential protest faded when she encircled his length, voicing an admiring hum.

It all felt way too good to stop, adjust their clothing, and go inside. She didn’t want to waste a second of this.

He’d initially had some concern about being out in the open, so exposed. But Laura decided in that moment that she was sick of the view of tiled or even tented ceilings, especially when she was feeling a real primo orgasm spooling up. He was really good (better than she’d even hoped for, never mind expected) with his tongue and fingers, and the heel of his hand, and oh Gods, even his teeth a few shivery times.

The stars above were the perfect backdrop, although she was also certainly fine with the close-up view of the burlap weave when he turned her over on her belly. Or did she instigate that? Their night was already starting to blur in her head, although her body definitely remembered three orgasms for her, and the damp spots on her skirt and wrap testified to a pretty spectacular (and voluminous; Good Gods, did the man _never_ jack off?) climax on his part as well.

She craned her neck a bit to look up at him. _Still asleep_. She settled against his chest again. The sun was just peeking over the horizon. She brushed her hand over the front of his pants and checked the buckle. It felt like everything was fastened back into place, and the hem of her skirt was again decorously around her calves. No one would suspect a thing.

****************

The hot water stung like fire between her thighs that night in the shower. She half-expected that, with everything they’d done.

She didn’t expect the low whistle Kara gave as she exited the communal shower. Or the flippant, “What’d you run into last night? Do they have porcupines around here?”

And she _really_ didn’t expect an unseen visitor to sneak a shaving mug, mirror, and razor into her tent, with a printed note reading “for next time.”

There was such a thing as _too_ casual, she thought, as she messaged Bill to put a bottle of Kara’s favorite brew on the next Raptor down.


End file.
